


At the Christmas Party

by thankyouturtle



Category: Famous Five - Enid Blyton
Genre: Coming Out, F/F, Family, Female Friendship, Femslash, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:18:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankyouturtle/pseuds/thankyouturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne and George both know that love isn't always easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: halotolerant in the Yuletide 2008 Challenge.

Anne pulled a face as she let herself collapse onto the sofa, with little regard for the new dress she was wearing. That was the fourth friend of her mother's who had told her that, really, she ought to get back on her feet again - generally accompanied by a distasteful glance at the ring Anne still wore - because she didn't want to become a _burden_ to her parents, did she? As if they could talk, Anne thought rebelliously. Mrs Uxbur's husband had died during the _war_, and she here she was, dressed in black from head to toe even though they were at a Christmas party!

"I hope you're not taking any notice of that old bag," the young woman sitting beside her said sympathetically. Anne favoured her cousin with a smile. Sympathy wasn't something that came naturally to George, but Mrs Uxbridge's insistence on calling her Georgina was guaranteed to give her at least a sense of fellow feeling. Anne reflected that she was still very much more a George than a Georgina. Even now, with a womanly figure that was almost impossible to disguise, George could fairly be described as 'boyish', with her hair closely cropped and her gentlemanly manner of sitting, one foot resting on the opposite knee. She was even wearing a suit.

"What do they call you at Cambridge?" Anne had asked curiously, once. "Aren't they awfully stuffy about things like that?"

George had grinned wolfishly. "No, they just called me Kirrin, mostly. Some of the professors were my father's contemporaries, you know. I think they worry that I've inherited his temper, so they don't ride me very hard. Probably worried I'll smash up a chem lab if I really get going! And my fellow students are happy to call me George - mostly." Now, she said, "Anne, the way you feel about things- about Charlie and - well, it's no one else's business but yours. Busybodies like Mrs Uxbur have no right telling you how you ought to be living your life."

There was something about the way George said it - that, and the faint pink stain that coloured her cheeks - that made Anne suddenly wonder. The letters she had from George were always full of her life at university, the tricks she and her boy friends got up to as well as how hard they worked, but she had never seemed to prefer any of the boys above the rest. But the tone of her voice - it sounded as though she did have a man in her life, and that not everyone approved. Anne sat up a little straighter in her seat, interested.

Apparently unaware of Anne's train of thought, George changed the subject. "Did I ever tell you about the cafe I go to sometimes? Not too far from res. - oh, I must have mentioned it to you!"

"I think you might have," Anne acknowledged, inwardly wondering where this was going. "Wasn't it called - oh, The Pickled Pig, or something like that?"

"Close enough," George returned. "Well - do you remember Jo, Anne? That wild kid we used to run into sometimes?"

Anne did. Jo had been like George - more a boy than a girl, and a great friend in need. Truthfully, Anne had always been a little scared of her, although now she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had been the way that Jo had been so happy to live without any rules in her life. Rules had always factored very strongly in Anne's own life, at least until she'd met Charlie. George was still talking, though, so Anne leant her half an ear.

"Well, Jo took a job waitressing there - completely out of the blue. It was about a month ago, and I was so surprised to see her - but she wasn't a bit shocked to see me. It's silly to think so, of course, but it was almost like she'd taken the job so she could see me. I wish she _had_ just taken the job to see me."

_Something_ in the way she did it made Anne turn her head, and to her surprise she found that George's face had turned bright red. Anne couldn't help but stare. What on earth was going on?

"You'd hardly recognise her to see her," George continued, oblivious. "She argues with everything I say, even when I'm just ordering a cup of tea. But she's so pretty, Anne, and even when her eyes are flashing all angry she..." George's voice held a dreamy quality that Anne had never heard in her unromantic, boyish cousin before, and the younger girl suddenly understood what was going on.

"George you - and Jo, she - I mean - oh George!" Anne stammered out, not knowing what to say. George ducked her head, clearly ashamed.

"It's so terrible," she acknowledged. "But when I'm arguing with her I feel so happy. I don't think I've ever felt so happy, not even when we were kids. And I don't know what to do about it."

Anne opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it again as a sudden memory flooded into her head.

_Anne stared at the white face, as if the kind eyes might open again if she looked hard enough. Even though she knew, really, that it was Charles, a small part of her didn't believe that it was really him in the coffin. He was always so - he _had_ always been so vibrant, that it was almost impossible to reconcile her memories with the still body lying before her._

_"Come on, my dear," Julian murmured, his normally lordly tones curiously gentle. "You can't stay here forever." _

_Anne stood, and turned, and found herself sobbing into her brother's suit jacket, her whole body shaking. "Oh Jules," she said, when the storm had passed. "How am I supposed to be happy, without him? What am I going to do?" Her voice was so hoarse she barely recognised it._

Anne cleared her throat, and said, a little shyly, "George - I think you should do whatever makes you happy. I don't think the others would understand" - the others being her brothers, naturally - "but I think - I think I do. If someone makes you happy, you should be with them."

George looked startled. "Anne," she started, and then she glanced away and grimaced. "Blow!" she said. "I supposed I'd better go stop Dick from making a complete fool of himself." She stood, and then, awkwardly, stooped and gave Anne a hug. This was so completely unlike her that Anne felt a lump forming in her throat, and she knew she had said the right thing. She watched George as she approached Dick - who'd clearly had far too much wine - and noted that everything about her cousin seemed _lighter_. Then Anne was swept up by Lady Randolph with a, "Anne, dear, have you met my son?" and she was given no chance to worry about George as she stepped into her role as the gracious Hostess' daughter.

Lying in bed that night, though, after she'd seen the last guest out and helped the servants take down the garish decorations Mother always insisted upon, she reflected that George had always been _different_. If anyone was going to understand that, it was Jo. Perhaps, maybe, each really would find happiness with the other.

She automatically reached down and ran her fingers over her engagement ring. She wasn't ready to take it off, not yet. But - perhaps one day she'd find happiness again, too.


End file.
